Draco Malfoy and the Extremely Irritating Parody
by Cosmic Angel
Summary: Written for a challenge on Fiction Net. The year at Hogwarts, from a mixed point of view, in which Draco dies at least once per chapter and Dumbledore's eyes twinkle like something twinkly. Mainly DHr


**A/N: **This is a parody. No offence intended to any of the characters/celebrities mentioned. Written for a challenge on Fiction Net. If you don't like, flame me. Hallowe'en is coming up and I intend to go as the devil, complete with shimmering background flames.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, I'd never subject them to the horror that is parodies. So I don't own them. Go figure.

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Draco smirked devilishly as he got on the train. He wanted to be a Death Eater, the big bad wolf to _her_ Little Red Riding Hood act. He wanted to play at being a bad boy, go around with his wand held offensively, wearing leather, studs, a earring or three, and with his hair all messed up.

On second thoughts, maybe not the messy hair. _Anything but the hair._

"Anything?" Miraculously, Voldemort appeared behind him, like he always does. Yes, I said 'miraculously'. Just 'cause its not good, doesn't mean it's not a miracle.

"Sir! Lord! Tommykins! Ahem-" Draco quickly bit back the last answer. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named-For-Legal-Reasons had hated that name the previous time he had used it, their last moment together before he himself, the God that is Draco, had to return to Hogwarts.

"Draco, my boy, it's time we made you a Death Eater. You'll have an extra excuse to stay with me," winked Voldemort, who we are naming because our lawyers are the best in the business and can take anything except Catherine Zeta Jones and her wedding photographs case and her tears and heartbreaking Oscar-worthy renditions when suing for millions of American dollars to spend in Britain.

"Really? Oh gosh, oh golly, oh Merlin, what can I say? What can I say?" asked Draco tearfully, sniffing and preparing to launch into an acceptance speech at the BAFTAs. "I'd like to thank everyone who helped me get here, where I am today, halfway to Hogwarts on a big red train, with the Darker-than-Dark Dark Lord."

"Stop that, boy! Now, about your initiation. Because it's you, I won't ask you to do the usual massacre-half-a-village-in-under-twenty-minutes. I wouldn't want you getting blood on your precious delicate ivory skin."

"So considerate, so kind," sniffed Draco, reaching for his wand to create some coffee, because coffee plays an essential part in romance, drama, angst and death don'tcha know.

"All you have to do is murder Hermione Granger and present her head on a gold and platinum platter to me in three weeks. Three weeks, Draco," continued Voldemort as sedately as Dumbledore while Draco spat out his precious life-giving coffee. "See you then."

Draco stared at the pool of coffee on the floor, debating whether to lower himself to the standard of Mudbloods and lick it up. Murder _her? His precious bossy bushy haired brown eyed buck toothed Mudblood? Never!_

"Oh, by the way, Draco." The Dark Lord, now available in silver and a groovy neon swirly colour, reappeared as suddenly as he always did. "If you don't meet the deadline, I'll cut off all your hair." With this, he disappeared.

"My hair? NOOOOOOO!" hollered Draco, the 'o's lasting for much longer than they naturally should. "It must be done! I must destroy her!" He resolutely grabbed his wand, shoved his 'Red Riding Hood' fantasy to the back of his mind, conjured and drank another cup of coffee, and stalked out, his robes swirling dramatically and evilly behind him. Even the robes are a plot device. If they can be used to make him seem evil, they will be. Let that be a lesson to all of you. Besides, robes are sexy.

Back on topic: Hermione entered the prefect compartment wearing jeans and a t-shirt. All was empty, apart from the alluring smell of coffee. She sat down, ignoring the pool off tempting brown liquid, and pulled out Hogwarts, A History.

This is where the author pulls the avid Draco/Hermione fans away and makes them take a damn good look, damn you. Hermione's hair had thinned, due to lots of paint thinners and drugs and expensive beauty treatment. Her teeth were not so buck-toothed thanks to Madam Pomfrey's Amazing Gullibility And Bad Memory, and her now long and tanned legs were amazingly showing beneath her jeans (work that one out).

Draco re-entered, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the coffee. Then they moved to Hermione, his eyes focusing on her legs, clad in denim. He could tell, he just could, that they were long, tanned and sexy. Not because we've just read that they are, but because his mind was plugged into his libido, and _that_ was what had read upwards.

"Mudblood," he drawled, resisting the temptation to throw her down and make mad passionate animal sex to her.

"Ferret," she replied smoothly, somehow managing a Slytherin-esque smirk even though her robes, which were peeking out from her luggage and waving, hoping for a major role, showed a Gryffindor badge.

"How are we?" he asked, sitting down and deciding to take the nice approach. He conjured some coffee.

"I _was_ fine. Not sure about you." Hermione took a sip of the coffee. "Malfoy, this coffee is amazing! Oh Draco, teach me the art of coffee making!" she cried, forgetting that Draco doesn't have a first name, because we all know and love and worship him as Malfoy, the Slytherin God of Sex, Smirks, and Perfect Hair.

"It's rather simple," said Draco smugly. "Just say _Make me some damn good coffee before I snap you in half you useless Wizard piece of crap!-ius and the wand will do it whenever you are low of caffeine._

"Thank you!" Hermione promptly made some coffee and downed it all, Draco finding the way she gulped the drink like a horse at water incredibly attractive.

"Malfoy," she said once she had finished, remembering his last/first/only name again. "I never knew you were so intelligent!"

Deciding to take this opportunity to seduce her and cut her head off, Draco slid smoothly over to her and placed his hands around the cup, over hers.

  
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Hermione," he said huskily and sexily, because everything he does is sexy, from the way he speaks to the way he scratches his backside. "I'll show you if you have time."

Even though the train journey has lasted forever already, and they haven't been disturbed, the train keeps going.

"Well, I don't know, we may be arriving at Hogwarts soon," said Hermione reluctantly, even though the silly bint knows that her fate is in the authors hand, and this author is making the train go around in circles for an hour for them to have enough time.

"There's plenty of time," said Draco with a sexy shrug, a sexy smirk in place on his sexy face.

"Well, alright," said Hermione, not needing much persuading because nobody can resist the God that is Draco.

"Fine." Draco took her gently by the hand, the cup magically disappearing, and then sat her down in a corner of the train compartment, now complete with double bed. Appropriate, huh.

"Draco, I'm scared," whimpered Hermione, clinging to him. Any excuse to get close to him and feel his handsomely rugged chest. Yes, his chest is handsome.

"Don't be." Draco hugged her tightly with one hand, the other producing a knife. Cue the old, clichéd, corny, 'Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?' routine.

"Draco, I love you," sighed Hermione, despite the fact that she had, up until about five minutes ago, hated him. Draco's sexy aura is too powerful for even the strongest to resist. Be warned, Harry: You're Next.

Draco stared at the knife, then at Hermione's hair, now sexily tousled despite being stated as straight.

"I can't do it!" he sobbed, throwing Hermione away from him and running in an angsty fashion to the bed. "I can't kill you" I love you! Hermione!" He threw his arm dramatically in the air, plunging the knife into where he thought his heart was. Luckily for him, he guessed right.

"DRACO!" screamed Hermione, forgetting the fact that she had her wand and knew just the healing spell to save him, although we all know she'll remember when it's too late and will cry, again with angst.

"Hermione! Don't let the Dark Lord beat you! Move on!" Draco managed to croak, despite the fact that by rights he should be dead by now.

"Draco!" Hermione cradled his blond head to her chest. "You can't leave me!"

Draco's eyes closed, and then opened.

  
"I refuse to die with messy hair. Straighten it up and put me down! You should be crying at my feet, worshipping me for the God I am!" he snapped, forgetting that he was dying. Hermione promptly dropped his head, straightened his hair, and flung herself at his feet, weeping.

"God bless me, for I am sexy, and I go to sleep with angels!" Draco's last words lifted to the stars, and they wept, for rain is a useful atmosphere-creating device.

Hermione's tears were soaking the floor. Now she straightened herself up, lost four stone, became anorexic with dark bags under her eyes and thin cheeks, and conjured a cup of coffee.

"Draco taught me how to do this," she sobbed, drinking the coffee quickly. The door burst open, and Harry and Ron, with well-developed muscles thanks to the authors excuse of Quidditch, although not as sexy as Draco's, stood in the doorway.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" they asked, completely ignoring the bed, Draco, and the lack of blood despite the knife in his chest.

"He's gone!" sobbed Hermione, as the author commits more crimes against the English language by over using the word 'sobbed'. "I loved him for five minutes and he went! I'm cursed! I shall never love again!"

"But Hermione," said Ron the Shallow, Tactless Brainless Idiot. "Who is he?"

Hermione let out an angsty, anguished scream, and pointed over at Draco, looking like an angel, his robes spread open, his leather clad trousers showing his sexy legs, and his face looking like wherever he may be, he was getting one hell of a good blow job.

"Draco! No!" Harry and Ron, who had also several days ago succumbed to Draco's sexy aura, flew at his feet and started crying. Hermione shook her head impatiently, back to playing bossy bushy haired brown eyed buck toothed Mudblood.

"Honestly! You two are impossible!" she huffed, storming out of the compartment as they finally arrived at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron both pulled themselves together, telling each other that it was best for Hermione, and left the compartment. 

Who knows what adventures await them this year? Who knows what fate has in store for them? Who knows what romances will blossom, what deaths will wreak the school with an angsty vengeance, what the Dark Lord's attempt at killing off the Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die,-Damn-Him! will be this year? And who knows if we'll ever find out if wherever Draco is, he's getting a good blow job?

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Me. Because I'm the author. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Lots of reviews get another chapter!

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**A/N: **Sorry, just had to make sure I poked fun at every single thing, including the A/Ns :P


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